Spy Games
by Distant Storm
Summary: In which Charlie Westen causes enough disturbance to have his teacher call home, and then some. Hypothetical post-series AU, no longer a one-shot.
1. Prologue

_Spy Games_

_Summary: In which Charlie Westen causes enough disturbance to have his teacher call home. Hypothetical post-series AU one-shot._

_Notes: Spawned by the second episode of season seven. There shouldn't be any real spoilers in here. I imagined a world where Madeline had passed away, and the next female in line took on the role of caring for Charlie. I actually am in the process of outlining a longer fic along these lines, but just a tad bit different and more involved, as it would probably be ten to fifteen chapters long. Please don't hesitate to give me some feedback. This isn't beta'd and I mostly wanted to get the idea out, to gauge the interested audience for a longer story focusing on Fiona and Charlie's relationship, and of course to answer the hypothetical post-series question of "where in the world is Michael Westen?_

XXX

Fiona Glenanne's cell phone rang, sending a cool-toned melody to resonate throughout the kitchen. The sun shone in through the window at the Westen residence, illuminating the window to the side of the dining room table. Setting down a cup of yogurt – her lunch – on the counter, she made her way towards the vibrating and ringing contraption, flipping the smart phone over to see the phone number.

"Hello?" She recognized the phone number and answered immediately.

The voice on the other side sounded quaint, but definitely frazzled. "_Hi, this is Miss Tremont, from Coconut Grove Elementary. I'm calling for Ms Glenanne._" She paused, and her call's recipient could hear the echo of children laughing, their voices almost squealing over the airwaves. "_It's about Charlie._"

Sighing, "Hello Debra," She drawled in her non-native accent. "What's he done this time?"

From the other end, Debra shushed the other children, coming across mute. "_I'll be back in just a moment, children. Until then, listen to Mister Rivera_." There was a scraping sound, and Fiona could hear the student teacher for Charlie's class begin to speak about Christopher Columbus. "S_orry about that," The young teacher recovered. "Mark still needs some help in re-directing the kids. Now about Charlie_."

Fiona's tone exuded boredom."What about him?" Not that she didn't care, but she only had a few more hours before she had to get him off the bus, and she still had a few "social calls" to make.

"_Well, he just refuses to come inside from the playground._"

"Tell him he'll have to stay after," Fiona countered, without batting an eyelash. "Either myself or Sam can pick him up later on."

The teacher hummed. "_Well, you see, Ms Glenanne, that isn't quite the problem. I've told him that_."

Fiona scoffed. Surely Charlie got into his fair share of trouble, but he was a boy, and a Westen boy, at that. He understood actions had consequences, and had suffered more than most boys his age. He was just barely a decade into his life and had lost his mother, father, and grandmother already – suffering grief that grown men had difficulty with. There were going to be issues, despite his naturally gifted stubbornness, and he was already seeing a therapist, that he _hated_, as per the request of Child Protective Services. He was almost through with sessions, and though he had no illusions – he knew what happened, and the only person he truly remembered was Madeline – he was still a handful. Fiona chalked such a thing up more to his last name than to his life experience.

"Then what is it?"

"Well, he says he's not Charlie Westen. He won't answer me."

"This definitely isn't the first time, Debra. Tell him spies get sent to the principal. He listened last time." Fiona sighed. Michael's nephew had an uncanny love for pretending he was a spy. And just like his uncle, he had a knack for finding things out and staying in character.

Debra sighed. She loved dealing with families almost as much as she loved dealing with unruly children. It was never the child's fault, it was always the teacher's for being unable to control what parents obviously let go at home. "This isn't the usual. I've tried. He says his name is Charlie McBride, and he's an Irishman from outside of Belfast-"

"I'm on my way." The Irish woman paused, trying to calm her fluttering heart. "Just – just leave him alone until I get there, okay?"

"Is there something I should know here, Fiona?"

The only reply the teacher received was a dial tone.

XXX

She drove much faster than she should have, her vehicle screeching as she drifted around corners at speeds much beyond the legal limit. She barely remembered to fasten her seat belt, much less bring her gun – thankfully there was one taped under the driver's side seat, just in case. She pulled into the school parking lot and parked directly in front of the playground, pulling the keys out of the ignition with a flick of the wrist while she gracefully descended from the vehicle.

Completely ignoring the teacher, she went straight to the playground, eying the small castle tower that lead to the tube-slide Debra had mentioned. Her own experiences told her that he wasn't there, and she could see the shadow in the dark blue plastic tunnel that was on the opposite end of the playground.

Obviously Charlie's teacher couldn't keep up with him.

"Charlie Westen," Fiona addressed to the blue tunnel, looking up at it from her spot on the ground. "Get your behind out of there, this instant."

"Miss Glenanne, Charlie's over-"

"He's right here," She breathed quietly, watching a mop of dark hair poke out from the left side of the tunnel. "Come on, let's go," She continued, her voice making her sound much bigger than she looked.

Charlie refused to budge, and she could hear the sound of him shuffling over to the other side of the tunnel, trying to stay out of sight. "I'm _not_ Charlie Westen. I already told you people!" If it weren't for the heartstrings that he was pulling by sounding _that much_ like his uncle, Fiona would have laughed at how much he sounded just like Michael. "Me name's Charlie McBride. I'm from a wee town just outsidda Belfast. Ya hafta believe me, thare's no Charlie Westen 'ere." He continued, in a brogue that he seemed to pick up on his own.

The teacher came to stand beside Fiona. "See what I mean? He could be an excellent actor," She continued, offhandedly. "Most children can't pick up accents like that without having someone in the home who speaks exactly like that."

"Charlie can speak three languages," Fiona said, curtly. "And that's not including the accents he can use, too." She gazed at the teacher, knowing how to continue. "Well then. Charlie McBride, git yer arse oudda thare 'afore I cohme up thare 'n make ya."

"You mean to tell me that you're-"

"I com' from a dinghy town just southa Dublin," She breathed in the teacher's direction. "Charlie, now," She looked over at Charlie, who had moved from out of the tunnel, but continued to look at her with eyes that could break her heart, shaking his head. "Charlie," She spoke his name in her native brogue.

Seeing that he wasn't going to move, she made her way onto the playground apparatus with grace that the teacher had never seen before, Fiona's petite frame danced fluidly around the obstacles in her way until she reached him.

"Ma, I don' wanna be Charlie Westen. I wanna be a McBride." He was sitting Indian-style in front of her, and she lowered herself so that she was sitting beside him, dangling her feet off the bridge beside the blue tube.

"And why's that?" She carried on in her native accent, matching his very natural imitation of it. "Yer a goo' Charlie Westen, tha's fer sure."

He smiled, but then his face scrunched up and got serious. "I wan' ta be a par' of tha happy endin'. Like yah say in tha' stories yoh 'n Uncle Sam tell."

"Wha happy endin'?" The question on her face just barely contained her soul's pain. She knew what he would say. When she got custody of him after Madeline's passing, she knew then and there that there were no lies to be told. Not about her past, not about Michael. Madeline had decided she was not going to lie Charlie about where he came from, and why things were how they were. It wouldn't be right, or fair to him. When Maddie's duties had been passed along to her, she upheld the same beliefs. He deserved the best, and nothing but the truth.

Charlie huffed, and reached out for Fiona's hand, clutching it tight. He was a charmer too, with those gorgeous blue eyes and cute pout that he abused frequently and Fi was immune to. This time though, the pout was accentuated with almost-tears and serious eyes. "Tha endin' where Michael comes hom' and we be a fam'ly. I don' wanna growwup no' knowin' 'em, Mammy."

There was nothing she could say to that, so instead, she pulled him closer to her, embracing his rapidly growing frame with her petite arms. "Oh Charlie," She stood, composing herself in a second, despite her gut wrenching emotions and pulled Charlie up with her. "Let's go," She whispered to him, glad she called Sam and asked him to handle business for her. "Maybe Uncle Jesse will have time to have lunch with us." They stopped holding hands once they reached the steps leading off the playground.

"Debra," Fiona switched back to her Americanized way of speaking. "I'll be taking Charlie home."

"All for a game of pretend?" The teacher shook her head.

Fiona had to restrain Charlie, who cried out in surprise.

"It isn't a game," Fiona quipped, her words daggers edged with ice.

"Then what of this deep cover nonsense? His spy games are distracting the other children, they shouldn't be rewarded with a half day and lunch." The teacher gulped, realizing her mistake immediately as the woman she addressed tensed up. No wonder all the other teachers in the grade hadn't wished Charlie to be in their class.

Had it been five years ago, Fiona would have lied and told the teacher it was a game, that Charlie needed a session with his therapist to talk things over. "Debra," Fiona willed herself to speak in a polite tone, knowing that she couldn't shoot the woman if she wanted to keep her child. Thus why she joined Jessie at the security firm, and why her "social calls" stayed just barely on the side of legal. "Do you know what my child has endured in his short existence on the planet earth?"

"I don't treat my students with any favoritism, Ms Glenanne."

"I'm not asking for favoritism." Fiona's eyes glinted like gunmetal against her long dark bangs. "Merely a little empathy is all the situation requires."

Shifting her weight from one foot to the next, the teacher looked beyond Fiona's penetrating stare to the car parked a few meters away, where a stony faced Charlie Westen remained leaning against the Chevrolet emblem on the bumper. "And why exactly is this?"

"My name is not Fiona Westen, if you hadn't noticed. And the only person in his biological family who might be alive hasn't been seen in over half a decade. So, you'll have to excuse him for pretending to be a part of a world where he has _some _hope. These things can't be helped." Turning on her heel, Fiona turned toward the car, and threw her boy the keys as she approached. He unlocked his door and tossed the keys with perfect precision and trajectory over the hood and into her hand, without looking.

Watching the exchange and finally, the duo driving away, the teacher shook her head, grumbling to herself about why she even bothered becoming an educator, anyway.

She also wondered if she needed her eyes checked, because she could have sworn she saw a man in a tan three-button suit with matching sunglasses standing on the roof as she turned to head back into the building.

It must have been a trick of the light: When she blinked, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 1

_I realized in my prologue that I never disclaimed Burn Notice. I do not own the aforementioned television series, comics, etc. I write for enjoyment of others and to combat my insomnia and overbearing emotions on occasion. None of this is for profit._

_The response you guys gave to the first shot was so awesome, I decided to work it into the actual fic as the prologue. Thank you so much for your support, kind words, and encouragement. I hope this fic does right by you, and if there's any questions, concerns, or ideas, please reach out to me. Hearing from you makes my day! _

_PS: This chapter is full of a lot of back story, so it isn't long so much as it's heavy. If something doesn't make sense or line up, please let me know. I've triple checked things, but there's a lot of room for error when you're going AU, though I'd like this to appeal to you as canon._

**XXX**

_Spy Games: A Burn Notice Fanfiction_

_By: Distant Storm, 2013_

_Chapter One_

**XXX**

She ended up staying in the shower for almost an hour, trying to rinse away the final scene in her dream. She could feel his gaze watching them from behind his sunglasses. Everything about the dream until that point had been real; It was an event of the previous fall. She shook her head, trying to forcibly will the image of Michael Westen away. She had things to do today.

Despite the fact that her heart and subconscious were plotting against her, she couldn't allow them to run away with productivity. She had to take care of the house, her son, and go to work on top of it. Just because her innermost thoughts betrayed her didn't mean she could allow herself to give into those feelings.

_When you're involved in covert operations, there is no place for emotion. You go in, do the job, and hope that you can live with yourself at the end of the day._

Allowing the steam to bellow out of the shower, Fiona stepped onto the plush rug after turning off the water. She put her hair up in one towel and wrapped the other around her body. Looking at her cell phone, she noticed that she still had half an hour before having to wake up Charlie. Her heart still felt like it was lodged in her throat, and her stomach felt like it was white-water rafting. She could use all the time she could get to compose herself.

In reality, it wasn't like she was expecting Michael to come back, not out of the blue. The last time she was even remotely aware that he was alive was just after Madeline died, when social services took Charlie to live in a foster home. The switch in thoughts made Fi's blood boil, her Irish temper still short after all this time. She remembered having so much on her plate in those few months, settling Madeline's estate, funeral arrangements, and most importantly, Charlie.

She understood it was Child Protective Services' job to look out for the well-being of the child. Even now, Fiona could hardly believe she was a parent, especially in this circumstance. Madeline's illness and premature death still weighed heavy on her heart, and she missed the woman very dearly. So when they took Charlie – screaming, of course – from the only home he remembered, it shook her to the core. She couldn't allow it to continue. Facing a lot of demons, she realized that she wasn't getting any younger, and that over the year leading up to Maddie's passing, she had been the one to spend the most time with Charlie. Madeline's words still echoed in her ears: "You have a way with taming Westen men, honey. It's a blessing and a curse." She could see the smirk that Maddie had given her. It wasn't a lie. She also remembered promising to do everything possible to keep Charlie safe and happy.

Armed with that knowledge and promises she intended to keep, Fiona began to appeal to CPS. She was allowed to visit with Charlie, and had met the foster families he had been with. Many of them had three or more children, and Fiona was aware that there were a lot of worse situations that Charlie could have been in. However, Charlie was still a Westen, and that bred trouble. Over the six months after his grandmother's death, the boy had been with seven families, causing all kinds of trouble. He made makeshift explosives with toy rockets and pop bottles – nothing harmful of course, he was just letting off steam. One of the other foster children had mentioned something about how his grandmother hadn't loved him and that's why he was sent to live with them. Said child ended up with a black eye and a bruised jaw.

Fiona allowed herself to swell with pride, knowing that it was a combination of her and Sam that had begun to teach Charlie to protect himself right around the time Jesse had taught him how to ride a bike. Karate be damned, she wanted to be sure the kid could fight...

It was after the sixth family and just before the seventh that Fiona and Sam made a breakthrough. It wasn't with CPS though. They had refused to budge after the incident a few years previous, when Madeline was fighting to keep Charlie, stating that her attitude and outburst were not a conducive environment for a child. Even Sam's charm couldn't convince them, and he wasn't exactly a nominee for Potential Parent of the Year.

Forcing her dress pants up her petite frame, she recalled swallowing her pride and marching directly into the CIA office where Tom Card had been killed years previous. They weren't happy to see her, and only after a few days and some near arrests that she had managed to see Dan Siebels, of all people. She remembered eying up the older man and handler to Michael in his earlier days, and doing her best to be civil as she spoke her piece.

The whole concept was a shot in the dark, though she figured that if the CIA allowed her to speak with someone, Michael was probably still alive. The words were burned into her mind. Charlie would be a great potential target to get to Michael. Especially since he wasn't in the protection of someone who had even a remote clue as to what they were doing. She proposed it in the best way she could, as though she were negotiating a deal with one of her suppliers.

_"It's simple really," She felt as though she were handcuffed, sitting in the interrogation room. God forbid they allow her t,o see someone's office. "If I have custody of the boy, it keeps him from being a liability. If the wrong person gets a hold of him, they'd be able to get to Michael in an instant." She snapped her fingers for emphasis. "You protect your asset, and I protect the key to his heart." She wasn't quite sure how true that was, but she had to believe that Michael still had enough good left in him to want to protect his last remaining blood. "Give me the boy, I'll protect him from Michael's enemies, plus he'll be contained." The confused look on Siebel's face was punctuated with a phone call to CPS._

"_What do you mean he set fire to their kitchen?"_

_Fiona smirked haughtily. "That's the third family this month," She chimed, her laughter muffled but melodic._

It hadn't been more than a week after that, when a black car pulled up to the house and Dan personally escorted a much happier looking Charlie into the Westen family home. Documents were already finalized, handed to her, and Charlie had been with her ever since. That had been almost four years ago.

They had had their share of hardship and struggles, but somehow, they had managed to make it work. Willing her bangs to frame her face flatteringly, she spritzed some perfume on her pulse points and headed into the hallway, her black pumps clicking on the hardwood floor.

A lot of adjustment had been made, she recalled, heading into the kitchen. She set the tea kettle over the stove, and lit the burner. Turning to the fridge, she pulled out eggs and an assortment of vegetables to go into omelets, as well as some cheese. She had no choice but to maintain the semblance of a proper life. Turning to Jesse for help, she had gotten into his security firm and had worked there for the last three years. Money was excellent there, and for all Jesse's whining about the 'strings he had to pull,' he didn't seem to mind cashing in his finder's fee for recruiting Fiona to buy an Aston Martin.

Most of the illegal works she did on the side came to a resounding halt. She didn't mind doing a few little things here and there, but the big jobs she did were cut off completely. She already had enough trouble knowing that her little boy had a temper and a lot of the savvy that his uncle possessed. He wasn't the same little boy she remembered encountering after his biological mother's accident. Instead, he was a young man who resembled the best of his lineage. He had a gentler face, with a rounder jaw and slightly more angular ears, but made up for it with his eyes. They were the same blue that shifted from ice to a deep cerulean, depending on his mood. He also scored Michael's nose and mouth, and three quarters of his personality. Some of this, she supposed was brought on by the hardship, another percentage from living with Madeline, and the rest, his grandmother blamed on her. Fiona always had a way with Charlie. At first, she intimidated him as a toddler. As he began to grow, he gained an insatiable curiosity and began following her, attempting to mimic her. When his grandmother died, he adopted a very dangerous mix of temper and attitude, the previous being the Westen family special, and the attitude being one hundred percent Glenanne.

Sometimes, like the present, she had to do a double take, because at first glance, he could passed for his uncle. He watched her in the same way too, curious, but aware not to get too close without announcing himself for fear of soliciting a deadly reaction. Not that she would – she had spent a lot of time fighting with herself against her natural reactions after gaining custody of Charlie. She learned, a lot like she had with Michael how to distinguish his footsteps, breathing patterns, and had since learned to know his presence. It didn't mean he didn't surprise her from time to time. Especially now that he had the buzz cut to make him look that much more like Michael.

"Good morning, Charlie," She breathed gently, throwing in a myriad of diced vegetables into the skillet to fill their omelets. "Did you sleep well?" She couldn't help the slight lilt of her brogue from sneaking through. Her brothers Sean and Conor, the bloody fools, had come to visit just after the holidays – code for trying to keep their heads down after blowing up an important somebody's home and having a firestorm rain down upon them in Ireland. Against her better judgment, they had stayed for three months, just long enough to really encourage both adoptive mother and son to really reintroduce the brogue into their natural tongue, and just long enough for the heat to die down. It also had given Charlie enough time to find out a lot more than she had bargained for about Michael McBride. He had since stopped his delinquency regarding adopting the McBride name at school, which she presumed was a trade off by Sean after teaching the boy how to hot-wire a car – a feat she was proud of, but had to ground him for. She paid good money for her car, and he nearly ruined hers trying it out for the sixth time. Not to mention that it had taken his most recent growth spurt to make him relatively close to the gas pedal.

"Ya," He replied, taking a few steps forward to see just what was cooking in the kitchen. "Do I got time ta shower?"

Fiona smirked, nodding from the stove. "Hurry up, thou'. Ya gots abou' fifteen minutes befer I put it on tha table." She had to admit, using her native tongue felt good. It made her feel more at home in her lover's mother's house.

Ex-lover, she reminded herself harshly.

Charlie headed towards the bathroom, and Fiona fell back into her thoughts full force. She hadn't been on a proper date in over a year now, having had Charlie for three. Her last steady boyfriend had been Carlos, but she had terminated that around six months after Michael disappeared again, unable to give the Latino man what he wanted: her heart.

Thankfully, she was still able to use her sex appeal in this new job of hers, or else she would have gone crazy. She could accept being a mother, but some God-given rights just couldn't be taken away. Although, it always made a brooding Charlie smile when she said he was the only man for her and then proceeded to tickle him until he went back to smiling.

She loved her son, and that's the important thing. She would do right by him, the world be damned.

And Michael Westen, too.

**XXX**

Sam Axe didn't bother knocking, a new feat he had come to enjoy. He didn't even get a gun waved at him anymore, although he supposed that with the curtains open, Fiona and Charlie could see him pull up in the caddy through the window.

"Where's my boy?" He quipped, shutting the door behind him.

"Don't you think it's a little early for beer, Sam?" Fiona's reprimanding tone was masked with a smile, so he figured he wasn't in too much trouble.

Setting the six pack down on the kitchen counter, Sam shrugged, trying his best not to look too guilty. "Listen, Sister. Some of us like to keep our beer chilled for later. I only drink mamosas and bloody marys until eleven thirty. Beer is an after lunch delicacy unless your fishing, tailgating, or pulling an all-niter."

She couldn't help but smirk at his come back. "Charlie's in the bathroom, he'll be out momentarily."

On cue, the young boy ran down the hall and into his uncle, shrieking, "Uncle Sam!"

Making a breathy noise as the air left his lungs, Sam hugged the boy, remembering the amount of time it had taken to switch Charlie from calling him and Jesse 'mister.' Fiona, on the other hand, had never pressed the boy to do or say what he didn't want to when it came to her. He could remember the day Charlie had called him 'ma' and not 'Fi' like it was yesterday. And he also remembered her putting her surprise aside and embracing it, an class act that he almost didn't expect.

Although, being in the business for so long, he learned to stop expecting much as to save on disappointment. It did make him laugh though, that Mike and Nate had always called Madeline 'ma,' and now things had come in a twisted full circle.

"How we doing, buddy? You ready to spend the day with Uncle Sammy?"

"I will be, as soon as we finish breakfast!"

Both Sam and Fiona chuckled at that, and Fi couldn't help but smile as he switched accents completely. It was their thing, to speak in brogue. So much so, that she wasn't even sure Sam knew about it with the exception of when her brothers were in town.

"Is there anything Charlie can do to help with breakfast, Ma?"

Fiona fixed Sam with a deadly glare. It was one thing for Charlie to call him that, but another for Sam, who was practically old enough to be her father.

"I don't know, _Grandpa_ Sam. Charlie, why don't you see if you can help set the table."

Charlie giggled infectiously and gave Uncle Sam a sympathetic smile. "You know she hates when you do that, Uncle Sam."

It was a ritual. During the summer when Fiona was working, Sam would come over, the three would eat breakfast, and then Sam and Charlie would go and do things that men do. Fiona occasionally needed breathing room too, and Sam was always willing to take Charlie. The kid was the closest he would have to a son, save Elsa's, and Sam wasn't about to go settling down at this phase in the game. He didn't need to be giving a fancy ring, and besides, Elsa was the one who required the prenuptial, not him. So he was a-okay how he was. He and Charlie often went to the beach or boating, and Sam was thrilled to have a fishing buddy. They also went to car shows, movies, and walked around downtown.

For Sam, it was refreshing, non-alcoholic experience, and Charlie thought Sam was the best. So much so that he wounded Jesse thoroughly by telling him exactly that.

Charlie made quick work of setting the table, making sure that all three of them had a place setting, complete with a glass of orange juice. He then turned to Fiona, waiting for further instruction. She motioned for him to take the seat across from Sam, and he did so as she approached the table with three very delicious omelets, turkey bacon, and toast. She took a seat at the head of the table, leaving her nearly empty tea mug on the counter.

"Any domestication comments, Sam, and Charlie will be hot-wiring the caddy to take you to the emergency room."

Sam paled as Charlie giggled again, taking a big gulp from his juice as Fiona served him an omelet and bacon. "C'mon, Sister, it hasn't gotten old yet."

He received a glare in response, but Fiona let it go and took some food for herself, leaving Sam with the spoils. He couldn't complain, Fiona's cooking was pretty stellar, and she'd never turned Sam away, even when better judgment had called for it. Also, Charlie liked to defend Sam from Fiona's temper, which helped immensely.

"So," She began, halfway through her omelet, "What are you two boys doing today?"

Sam shrugged and looked to Charlie. "What do you wanna do, kiddo?"

The youngest closed his blue eyes and thought for a second. "Let's go look at cars again."

"That's what you did last week."

Chuckling, the ex-seal was unable to say no to his nephew. "No worries, Fi, there's always a spot around town to see some good cars." Meanwhile, in the back of his mind, a plan was brewing. He pulled out his cell phone under the guise of texting Elsa, but instead, he was placing a text to an old friend. He had an idea.

**XXX**

_Stay tuned. Next time, we find out what Sam's brilliant idea is, and possibly catch up with Michael._

_Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 2

_Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, your pms, follows, and alerts. The response I'm getting is overwhelming! It means the world, and I hope you enjoy reading as much as I do writing. This chapter will probably be the last one for about a week, unless I get some time this weekend to do some writing. I wasn't anticipating this one so soon, but I got into a good groove toward the end. I only proofread it a few times, so please point out anything I might've missed or that doesn't make sense. _

_Thanks so much!_

_Notes: Abani means "earth."_

**XXX**

_Spy Games: A Burn Notice Fanfiction_

_Chapter Two_

**XXX**

"Uncle Sam, this kinda looks like a piece of junk."

Sam ran a hand through his lightening hair and sighed. He'd had a buddy calling every junk yard in the lower peninsula trying to locate the vehicle Charlie was gawking at. "Hold it right there, Brother," Sam pointed at Charlie, waiting until he had the young man's complete attention to continue. "This car here is a classic. She belonged to your grandpa."

"I see why he got rid of it," Charlie quipped, running a hand over a smoother area of mangled metal, careful of the scraps of glass hanging from the windows, and the dents that covered it.

That obviously wasn't going to work. Switching tactics, Sam wiped some sweat off his brow and approached both Charlie and the vehicle, trying not to wince at how it looked. The time obviously wasn't the vehicle's friend. "Yeah, well he didn't get rid of it, it got messed up in a mission. It just needs a little bit of work." Sam tried to keep his tone positive.

"A lot more than a little."

The ex-seal scoffed, "Char-"

"Are we looking at the same car, Uncle Sam? It's _totaled_."

Charlie fixed his uncle with a weak version of his best buddy's glare. Sam didn't shift under the kid's gaze. He tried to remember that though the little guy was practically a clone of Mikey, he was still a kid. Sometimes he and Fi would wonder if Mike had a similar personality as a child, but after a few minutes of discussion, she would change the subject. He knew it was a sore spot, but all of them cared about Mike, despite how much they'd all love to rough him up if he ever came back. Part of Sam still stung over how Fiona of all people was raising Charlie. Not that Mike would be much good at it, but still. Sam knew that they were like family and all, but truthfully, Mike was blood, and he could have manned up and acted like it. He never even showed up for his mother's funeral, and that made Sam pissed off, too.

"Char, I'm tellin' ya, you 'n me could get this hunka metal running."

"You really think so?" Charlie reached into the driver's side and unlocked the door through the broken window. He very gingerly pulled open the door, wincing as the hinges protested. "Uncle Sam, I think you're nuts." Sitting in the car, the boy ghosted his hands over the warped steering wheel. The seats were charred, much like the rest of the interior. "We'll have to replace a lot of it."

Sam shrugged. "So? We've got just shy of three months before you gotta go back to school. I bet we could have it running by August." He paused, looking over the interior. "Besides, I know you can hot-wire, but how about knowing about how a car works? We'll have to rebuild the engine, and I know the tranny was spent well before Mikey blew 'er to hell."

"Mikey?" Charlie looked over, blinking his baby blues rapidly. "You mean my Uncle Mike?"

Sobering, Sam nodded, meeting the little Westen's eyes. "You betcha, Charlie. This car was your Uncle Mike's baby. He hated having to ruin her, but it had to be done."

The boy seemed to process this slowly, reaching his hands down under the driver's side seat. "Uncle Sam, there's something down here." Very gingerly, he pulled out a charred envelope that had only half survived the charger's demise. Something jingled, and Sam saw a silver key drop into Charlie's hand.

"Well I'll be damned," Sam smirked. "Mikey always said he left a spare key sewn into the seat. And here I thought he was bluffing."

His uncle's words didn't seem to matter to Charlie, who was transfixed on something else. It was a photograph, worn and warped at the edges from heat and time, but the image was intact. Sam cleared his throat a moment after seeing it, willing away the lump that rose. Charlie looked heartbroken, and Sam realized that the young man was far more empathetic than his uncle, a trait only Nate could have given him.

"Do you think mom still loves him?" Charlie gazed at the photo once more, before tucking it away into his t-shirt pocket.

The photo was engrained in Sam's mind though. He could see the image of Fiona and Michael, smiles on their faces. It had been taken almost ten years ago, although all he could remember of the incident was Michael yelling at Madeline for intruding on them, and Madeline shrieking that she'd almost never caught the two of them together while they weren't arguing.

It had been a few moments, and Sam still hadn't answered. He stumbled to say something. "Well, ya see kid, it's kinda like-"

"I think she does too," Charlie finished for his uncle. "She's really mad at him though." The mood lightened considerably after that. Sam ushered Charlie from the vehicle, promising that they'd start working on it as soon as the flat bed dragged it back to Coconut Grove.

"So whaddaya think Fi will say?" Sam asked, as they got back into the caddy, watching through the rear view as the flat bed followed them out of the junk yard.

Charlie tapped a finger to his lips, sighing. "Well, considering Uncle Jesse tried to buy it last fall and Mom said _I'll dismember you if you even think about dragging that hunk of junk on my property_," Sam tried not to laugh at the very comic rendition of Fiona as done by the ten year old, feeling queasy once he realized that the kid wasn't joking, "I was going to propose that I say it's _my_ idea, and then _you_ teach me how to drive it once we fix it."

"Either way, kid, Fiona's gonna rip me apart." Charlie tried not to, but the look on Sam's face made him laugh. It sounded so carefree and tugged at Sam's heartstrings. "Hey! Cut that out! It won't be funny when she shoots me!"

The boy shook his head and put his sunglasses on. "If you listen to me, she'll never know."

"I thought we didn't keep secrets."

"It's your funeral," Charlie said, looking through amber tinted sunglasses at his uncle.

"You drive a hard bargain, kid," Sam said, making a right onto the expressway. "I suppose I want to live," He mentioned casually, making the young brunette smile.

"And besides, the only reason Uncle Jesse told my mom he found the charger was because of me."

Sam turned and gave the kid an exasperated look before looking back to the road. "You mean to tell me you went to Uncle Jesse first? Kid, I'm hurt!"

"Oh come on, Uncle Sam. Uncle Jesse wanted to get me an old car to mess around with after I tried hot-wiring the Porsche. It's his fault for telling me how good my dad was with cars!"

"I remember," Sam said, suddenly remembering he had to be the adult in the situation. "And don't do that."

**XXX**

_Three Weeks Later: Mumbai_

Abani Fisher, an American-born, India-raised woman, walked down the beach with a long garland of bright flowers in her hands. The sun had just fallen under the horizon, and the sky was aglow with burnt oranges and faded yellows, the tips of the clouds a cornflower blue and lavender. She wore a bathing suit and long sarong of a deep pink, with white patterns to fill in the empty space with flowers. It was a gauzy and soft texture that rippled in the wind behind her. The wind carried the scent of incense from _Lakshami Puja _and down the row, small beach cottages were lit artificially to welcome the goddess of wealth and prosperity.

Sand tickled her toned legs, and her brown eyes were still hidden behind large sunglasses. They darted around as she finally made her way up to the back of a beach cottage. It didn't look like much, though it was posh on the inside and very expensive, however nothing looked like much when it came to the architecture of the metropolis. It dwarfed every other structure around.

Entering her current dwelling, she was met by an older man, an American named Kareem Sliver. She doubted very much that this was his given name, but said nothing, instead kissing him demurely on each cheek. She was his possession, she supposed, but it was an improvement over what had been going on in her life a few years ago.

"We go," He whispered in soft English. Very rarely did they speak _Marathi_ or _Hindi_, although she had heard him address his men in _Bambaiya_. She wasn't too very upset by this, and was more than happy to speak in her first language. She had told Kareem about her first eight years in the States, and he was thrilled to see that she retained some piece of her American heritage, even if she had adopted the name Abani around fifteen when she was in school. Alexandra was a beautiful name, but not a good one for an awkward teenager who already felt as though she'd never fit in.

Abani barely had time to light the incense and say a prayer – not that she was that religious anyway – before Kareem had her by the elbow and guided her outside. The sand had cooled generously in a matter of minutes, and she enjoyed remaining barefoot, though she had a feeling one of Kareem's men had a bag with a change of clothes (something less revealing, even though she preferred to look like a tourist), and sandals to protect her feet should they leave the sand.

They did, a few moments later, edging into a dark sedan without any identifying markers. A bag was waiting in the vehicle, and Abani did her best to shield herself, despite knowing that the barrier between the front and back seats was a tint so dark you couldn't tell in daylight what occurred, unless the window was lowered by the remote switch beside Kareem. He took time to appreciate her golden skin in the small glow of the moon that penetrated the car windows as she changed. She had been around Kareem so long, this did not bother her. She played koy to his advances, knowing that it excited him.

He enjoyed the gentle public attitude of an Indian woman, but preferred savage and racy behind closed doors. He had heard about Abani long before he had seen her, but he knew from spending the last three years with her that she was very fiery. It wasn't very often that he slept with her, as he had other wives to attend to and she was a mistress, but he very rarely remembered them. Strangely, as she recalled her tales of their romps, he always felt very satisfied at how she described the experience. It wasn't very often that his other women could recall his nights with such fervor after he enjoyed his chosen poisons. Often, they indulged with him. He could respect this one, though. She was different.

She was the only one who knew his chosen name, the identity he had pieced together after leaving home. The other two wives knew him by different names, though he acted as the same person. He was a successful entrepreneur, and they would not say a word about who he called them in bed, so long as the money was still flowing freely. His women enjoyed every possible luxury, and his mistress was no exception, even though his two wives were wed out of a need for a convenience for laundering money.

Abani now wore a scarlet _sari_, a gift from Kareem for her birthday the previous year. It was beautiful, deep in color, and accentuated her sun-darkened skin. Her hair fell in beachy waves from the salt water and humidity, and framed the flawless skin of her face to make it look warm and elegant. She smoothed her long, dark taupe colored locks from being frizzy as they had walked through a breeze, and then held Kareem's hand when he extended it to her. As they entered the downtown area, she caught a glimpse of herself through the reflection of the tinted window thanks to the neon lights all around. She barely recognized herself anymore.

"We will be there soon," He said, pressing his lips to her temple. She closed her eyes as if relishing the affection, and leaned against his shoulder, willing her body not to tremble at his touch.

A man of few words, she was not surprised when they arrived at the back entrance of a very upscale nightclub, Kareem escorted her out of the vehicle not five minutes later. They passed a bouncer with very little effort – Kareem Silver was like a god in this city – and she was seated in a secluded booth with a bottle of very expensive champagne. She draped her gorgeous legs over Kareem's lap, and waited. They were obviously meeting someone, and Kareem obviously expected it to be potentially messy, as there was a knife strapped into the hem of the _sari_ laid out for her to wear. Had she not explicitly shown him where to hide such a weapon on the tight garment in case of emergency, she would never have guessed it to be there. She was not inexperienced, however, and knew how to check her clothing inconspicuously.

"So I hear you're the one around here that everyone wants to meet."

Kareem rises, and she moves her legs and golden sandal clad feet off her man. "My friend, you have arrived."

He is also an American, if the accent says anything, he was once from the Midwest, perhaps. His stature is not as incredible as Kareem's six foot, four inches, but it is just as lean and muscular, and the way he holds himself tells Abani he could very well be a threat, and she has yet to see his face. Though she may know what is best, she can't come across that way, and doesn't look the second he steps into the light. Instead, she looks away, disinterested, making friends with her glass of champagne.

"I'm not quite sure we're friends yet, Mr. Silver," His tone is warm, but not overly friendly. They shake hands, and he sits down, paying the man attention after blinking at her once. She does not appear very threatening, and that is where he is wrong.

"Nonsense." Kareem pushes off his suit coat as he sits back down. The white and pale pink pinstriped dress shirt makes his skin almost the color of dark chocolate, and accentuate the pale gold of his eyes. They're entrancing, however this man does not seem to fall for their charm. He meets the newcomer's eyes. "Any friend of my friend is mine as well." A pause. "You saved my good friend, Allan, in Chechnya."

_Chechnya?_ The shorter man grins. "Well, when you put it that way," They both laugh, and Kareem motions to her, severing her thoughts.

"Abani, my sweet. Pour our friend Mr. Cirkston a drink."

Gracefully, _demurely_, she reaches for the bottle, plucking it and a glass out from the ice pail. With angel's hands she pours their guest a drink, all without looking up. The shortest layer of her hair frames her cheekbones, effectively working with the light to shield a good view of her face from him for a few moments more.

"What a beautiful woman," _He _remarks.

"_Thank him for his compliments,"_ She replies to her master in _Marathi_, and he does, understanding the hidden meaning behind her switch in dialects. _I do not trust this man. Not yet._

Kareem is a man though, and before she can place exactly where she knows this man, with a majority of his hair hidden beneath a fedora, custom-tailored suit, and matching sunglasses that he has yet to remove, he has waved off his guards. The curtains close surrounding the booth, and they are alone.

"Mr. Cirkston-"

"Please, David."

"Alright, _David_." Although a terrorist, Kareem does have some policies he attempts to uphold. He prefers being respectful upfront. "Allan informed me that you would be someone to contact if I were in need of moving some supplies to a very hostile area of the world."

A shrug and a smile meets this comment. "Allan was always thick on the compliments." He pauses, his accent making him sound like a commoner despite the gleam of the twenty-thousand dollar watch on his wrist. The diamonds catch and reflect of his yellow and silver framed sunglasses. _Why does he still have them on?_ "I have a charity organization that intends to help women and children battered by violence and poverty. Whatever you need to ship can be placed through my 'donations.' The appropriate parties can be informed, and the goods 'seized' upon delivery." He uses air quotes to accentuate his point. _Cocky._ "These things happen in certain areas of the world. I'm sure the one you're describing is very much one of the places I make drops to."

"And this 'shipping method,'" Kareem is cocky too. She holds up her drink, admiring the bubbles in the half empty glass as it changes amber-tinted colors with the club lights. "It goes right around customs?"

"You betcha." David Cirkston is smiling an award-winning smile now. He believes he's got it in the bag.

Abani turns to him now, drinking his image in directly. _Anything but this._ "I hardly believe semi-automatic weapons just pass by customs without being scanned and seen through their packaging." He is familiar to her. _This will be a problem. _Thankfully, she is skilled at staying composed. She trades shock for hostility.

It isn't uncommon to meet old friends at new playgrounds. This was unreal, all things considered.

Their guest fixes her with a warm smile. "She speaks," he reckons, and she tries her best to blush while retaining her anger against his gaze. "We have technology to mask these things," And David is gone, taking the next fifteen minutes to sell his product. She shoots him a murderous glare, disbelieving, telling him he'll ruin everything if his technology can't make things invisible or teleport them from one area of the world to the other – they've _never ever_ seen any kind of technology like this that can work. This isn't 2010 anymore. Times have changed, and things are hundreds of times more secure.

Kareem breaks them up, something in him obviously sees David Cirkston as an ally and not a threat. She will continue to treat him that way, however, despite the invitation upstairs for a late night dinner, Kareem's go-to after deciding to accept someone into his inner circle. She might be the most respected woman in his life, but she was also the one he listened to the least. No woman could ever be responsible for his choices.

_A kiss of death_, as she had called it one night when they were in bed.

**XXX**

As a rule of thumb, the woman could either be the key to landing the deal, the key to destroying everything, or the key to getting the deal turned in your favor. Depending on the initial vibe, David Cirkston could do a few things. Casually flirt to either enchant or enrage the woman, depending on the response needed from the man, ignore the woman, also necessary to gauge a response from both parties in a couple to see just who was in charge, or to teeter over the line of disrespect towards the woman, in an attempt to destroy the relationship between the duo before it ruined the plan or got you killed.

Things were beginning to lean toward the last one. He didn't really want any casualties in this, but he had a job to do, and this woman was going to seal her fate if she kept making Kareem second guess agreeing to their terms.

He receives a well timed phone call halfway through the meal, escaping the confines of the club after apologizing profusely to his hosts. It doesn't take him long to get the pieces in place. He returns to find Kareem kissing his woman with a passion that takes him back years and makes him blink to clear his head. She appears more giggly as well, having had too much of the bubbly while the men did their talking.

It is Kareem who apologizes this time, saying that she has obviously consumed too much of his very fine champagne, and it would explain her attitude towards him("She's a little fiesty when she drinks, friend."). She did not even seem to be listening, humming a melody to herself with closed eyes, leaning onto Kareem completely. Neither man minds, and they continue to discuss terms. This will work for them, Kareem finally says, ceasing all talks for a later date. The meal carried on to more drinks and dessert. They discuss tropical escapes and sports cars.

If only David was a novice. Cirkston was not; Therefore he knew what woman faking intoxication looked like. Her eyes were still clear, and she had her man very obviously enraptured. Upon closing their business agreement, they had toasted to their partnership. Upon toasting, his gracious host produced a small bottle of Absinthe. David and Abani declined. Soon, Kareem looked at her with eyes that wished to ravish her on the table in front of their guest. The woman giggled, but the dangerous gleam when she looked away, the one that spoke of how sober she truly was, made David realize that he absolutely going to have to do something, and fast.

He would have to condemn his own plan, in order to make sure that when he did lay his chips down it would be done.

So, when Abani excused herself to powder her nose, David moved his plan into action.

The combination of liquors did not do the up and coming warlord much good, he began to be much looser in a very short amount of time. Unlike his partner, there was no hiding it, and thus, David moved forward.

"She's been gone a while." A simple statement. It would be taken as fact, he guaranteed it. It sounded so harmless. Tone is a valuable asset in deception, especially when someone is obviously under the influence.

Kareem shrugged. "She does that, from time to time. Especially when we come here. Likes to go see the dancing," He slurred lightly. This man was obviously inexperienced. He had obvious skills, but getting plowed on the first date – or meeting, as it were – was always in bad taste. Also occasionally dangerous.

David continued to get little jabs in, riling his new partner without saying much at all. Lucky for him, Kareem seemed to be a very volatile drunk.

She returned maybe ten minutes after leaving – not a ridiculous amount of time for the average woman to do their business, tidy their makeup – if they were wearing any – and tame their hair. Silver's body language was rigid, and he eyed her both possessively and curiously.

"Let's get back, babe. It's getting late." She remained standing, gazing at David curiously, as Kareem stood and made his way to her, just barely off-balance. Their guest's eyes sparked at that. He knew the man was obviously drinking a very potent bottle of the green stuff, for what he had drank of it. Although, money bought ridiculous things. Kareem was obviously high. Not that David minded, so long as the negative energy didn't end up brought towards him.

Abani's gaze intrigued him, however. Her unmasked anger toward him earlier had completely vanished. His gut told him he wasn't mistaking her for being against this plan of theirs, but something else wasn't completely correct either. The important thing, he reminded himself, was that she was the enemy. A terrorist. He had heard of the bombings and shootings she had personally funded and endorsed. Abani Fisher was way out of line, though she definitely played the part of the helpless and innocent rather well until you got her up close.

"How much have you had?" She asks her lover as they stumble together down the stairs to the back entrance.

Her reply is an angry grumble, some inappropriate touches, and a glare. _Perfect._

Now, to seal the deal.

Cirkston passes them on their way to his car, an inconspicuous, very expensive Audi.

"Abani," He says to her, whispering so that only she can hear, "I think you've dropped your earring." David gestures toward the car, and she leans her boyfriend against it, though he doesn't appear to need all that much help.

Let the record show that Abani Fisher is not stupid. She meets David Cirkston's eyes, and hers spark with a dangerous fire. She's been in this game long enough. She knows that when she laid eyes on him that it was the powers that be's way of saying that she wasn't capable of finishing the job. _They didn't believe in her. They want her to die here._

She bends over, clutching her _sari_ gracefully to 'check' under the car as she hears him yell:

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" A pause, and Kareem is wide awake, albeit intoxicated. Lesser men have done greater things. "Kareem, Mr. Silver, I saw her stick something to the bottom of the car."

He's an incredible actor. A bodyguard approaches, and he's also been drinking. She knows Kareem's men very well. She also knows what it looks like, and that when it comes down to it, these men believe that all women are snakes. It's an excellent play, really.

It's a tracking device. She can see the bug, the red light blinking. The opening was obvious, but believable, and she knows exactly when he put it on the car. Still, he's a master at reading the plays and pulling the win out of his ass. She expects no less. Kareem and his man pull her up by her shoulders, while another muscle checks the underside of the car.

"She stuck something down there, all right."

"I know all about those kinds of things," David supplies, helpfully. Abani knows they're fools now, not a single one, after three years, is bothering to defend her. How _cute._ "It looked like an American secret forces device. I'm trained in military weaponry." He looks to continue.

She looks at David pointedly. "Save your breath." Her voice is hard, much less Indian sounding, and her eyes have a hollow look to them. Something isn't right about this, his gut tells him, and he waits for her move.

Kareem makes one for her, ripping her hair back so that all of it is flush against her scalp. "You lying bitch! How long have you been playing me? All this time?" He has a gun to her head now, silencer screwed on the end.

She will _not_ go out like this.

Recognition _strikes _like a blow to the gut. She looks a lot different than he remembers.

"You're such an expert?" She gives him the nastiest look she has, kicking her feet up despite the _sari_. She hits David in the gut now, and he doubles over. He always gets a kick as a greeting after years of absence. Without fail. The gun gets shoved harder into her temple, and Kareem spits on her. Degrading. She looks over at Kareem, no use denying it now, and smiles the devil's smile. "Go look under that car, Cirkston. It's a bomb."

If he's bewildered, he says nothing, instead sinking to the ground to look under the vehicle.

The muscle decides now is a good time to speak. "I saw no explosives," He rumbles in a heavily accented voice.

David pushes himself out from underneath the SUV. "You must be blind," he addresses the bodyguard. "There's a ton of C4 under there! Enough to level this side of the club."

Their eyes meet again. She's glad they have some chemistry. Maybe it will be enough. "Did he tell you about the timer?"

The grip on her loosened just enough for her to turn the tables on the intoxicated man holding her. She easily broke his wrist, holding the gun to _his_ head instead. "So, here's the deal," She looks over to the muscle. "Hand over your gun."

Kareem is selfish. He doesn't want to die. The muscle is given the okay, and he hands over his handgun. Now she has two guns, and one is pointed at David, the other still focused on Kareem.

"How much time did that timer have left on it?" She looks at David again.

"Four minutes." _Enough time to get away._

"Do you have a cell phone?"

David pulls one from his pocket.

"Here's how this is going to go," Abani's tone is low, lethal. "Mr. Crikston and I are going to go to his car. I'm going to drive away. Once I'm far enough away, I'll deactivate the bomb." She pauses. "If you get any ideas, there are a few other bombs placed around here. You might escape this one, but I guarantee that you won't escape the next four." She was pushing it, she knew she didn't have much time. Her four minutes were down to two.

"You bitch!" It's all Kareem can say. "Go," he waves her off. "God damn it, just go!"

Like a madwoman, she heads toward the Audi holding them at gunpoint. She gets in, gets the cell phone from him. Turns the key. He's still standing outside the vehicle, hands up. They have ten seconds.

"Why did they send me in if you-"

"They're using you to burn me, Michael."

"Pierce, I-"

"I know."

Their interlude is up. Danielle Pierce is Abani Fisher and Michael Westen is David Cirkston once more.

She hits the gas, lets the tires squeal, and makes sure the rubber smokes on her way out. He jumps out of the way and they run for cover. He knows how to sell a bluff. As for her, she knows where the plane will take her, and she's ready to make that trip.

**XXX**


End file.
